Fly, Not As I
Vapor trails of jetting Jets
Pattern the dawn blue sky;
I gaze unseeing the passengers
With courage to fly, not as I.
Without firm ground beneath my shoes,
Fear straddles my old shawled shoulders.
Is this what it is, I muse
To be “older” and growing “older.”
In my closed eyes a boulder rises to my face,
Safe, soft statistics drift like shreds, crumble.
In my world this feeble flying fear
Freezes good sense; I am humbled.
Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2018
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